


A Promise made of Pomegranates

by gaytriangle



Series: My True Love Gave To Me... [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, F/F, First Meeting, Fluff, persephone and hades au, shameless fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-16
Updated: 2018-12-16
Packaged: 2019-09-20 07:18:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17018199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaytriangle/pseuds/gaytriangle
Summary: Sansa, Lady of the Dead, ruler of the Lands of Always Winter, didn’t get an awful lot of visitors. Especially not ones as beautiful as this little one.





	A Promise made of Pomegranates

Sansa felt a range of emotions, the first time she saw her future wife. The presiding one was confusion. 

“How did you get here?” She stormed down from her throne of molten shadow, marching towards the (fantastically beautiful) maiden that was somehow, inexplicably, inside Sansas fruit garden. The girl lifted an eyebrow. “Through the door, your majesty?”

Sansa huffed. Crossed her arms. Tried to look intimidating, as opposed to mildly impressed at the bravery of this little mortal, breaking into the Lands of Always Winter and having a casual conversation with the Lady of Death. Truthfully, she wasn’t little at all, standing almost eye to eye with the tall Goddess, but she didn’t have the same standing. Sansa considered herself terrifying, even by godly standards: flaming hair, snow white skin, and eyes that you could drown in quite literally. Even the other Gods didn’t want to see her anymore. As Sansa mused about her own inherent evilness, the girl in all her gall plucked one of Sansas prized pomegranates, and attempted to bite in. 

Sansa spluttered, “Don’t do that! Do you _want_ to be stuck in the underworld forever?” Her big brother bless what was left of her soul, she swatted the thing out of the pretty little idiots hand. The mortal considered the not-even-a-question for a second, then nodded. “Sure. This place seems interesting. Plus, you would make excellent company.”

Sansa turned around to hide the faint blush in her gaunt cheeks, summoning three skeletal servants with a wave of her hands. The mortal gave a squeal that Sansa would’ve liked to consider terror, but had to realise was probably closer to glee. “Show our new guest to the chambers next to mine. Apparently she’ll be here for awhile.”

~

The next morning, Sansa was mildly impressed to find her guest still alive. She was seated at Sansas personal dining table, sipping from a glass of nectar and munching on one of the prized pomegranates. How has she gotten that? “That is worth a year of my company, you know,” said Sansa. She couldn’t resist a very small smile when she watched her guest nod energetically. 

“That’s rather the point,” she said, hopping up once Sansa had finished her own nectar. The damned soul who had been serving her- Ramsay, was it?- jumped back, making offended noises. Sansa was surprised to note that the flower woven in the mortals hair was still alive, fluttering in a non-existent breeze. “What’s the plan for the day, then, Your Terrible Grace?”

Sansa snorted. “Sorting through the souls of the damned. I’m afraid we don’t have much in the way of entertainment for beautiful princesses.” 

Her guests laugh was like a breath of fresh air in the gloom. “I’m not quite a princess, m’lady, but I appreciate the compliment.”

Sansa huffed, ignoring Ramsays croaking laughter. She gave a full appraisal to the cheeky mortal. “Who are you?” 

It was that, oddly, that seemed to take the wind out of the eager little things sails. “No one important,” she said, firmly, “but you may call me Margaery.” Sansa cocked her head, thinking. Why did that sound so familiar? Ramsay was chittering again, so she dismissed the soul and stood up. 

“Just this once, i suppose, we can take a break from the infernal courts. There’s one relaxing thing to do, even here.” Sansa was glad to see the return of happiness to Margaerys face. She whistled a piercing note that would make most mortals wince, and Lady appeared. 

Margaery clapped. 

The direwolf stared at Sansas guest, then allowed herself to be pet. She had grown huge since her death, and Sansa honestly wasn’t sure if she could ever stop growing. Lady now stood head and shoulders above her lady, all wirey muscle under her soft fur. Sansa had endeavoured to keep her looking as sweet in death as she ever had in life- she, Sansa, and Margaery were the only three creatures in the land that looked even passably alive. 

Margaery had moved forward unbidden when the huge wolf appeared. She was stroking her snout lovingly, to Sansas confusion. Did they teach mortals nothing of fear these days? Still, it was hopelessly endearing to watch the gigantic direwolf whine like a small pup when Margaery stopped petting to clamber onto her back. 

“Your form is oddly good, little mortal.” Sansas climb had more grace than Margaerys, but her guest had done much better than Sansa on her first attempt. She didn’t seem very happy with the compliment, though, only murmuring that it was “similar to my brothers horses.” Perhaps she missed these brothers? Sansa would put a stop to that. 

Sansa tugged on Lady’s fur, and they were off. Margaery let loose a whoop of shocked glee at the speed the wolf was going at. The Lands of the Dead blurred past them, retributions mixing with rewards until they reached the one place of life amidst the gloom. Sansa hadn’t been here since she had taken her throne, so long ago; the Godswood hadn’t changed at all. 

Margaery looked oddly nervous as Sansa took her arm and led her onto the carpet of wildflowers. “Don’t worry, Margaery. You’re with a God, you’re allowed be here. I’ll just get us something to eat.” Sansa knelt into the flowers, feeling the earth beneath them, and began to summon a connection to one of the Gods that could get a picnic of mortal food. Loras, perhaps. 

She could only begin, though. Margaery grasped her arm desperately as soon as she had spoken the other Gods name. “Please, Sansa. It’s alright; I’d rather eat the food of the dead, I’m fine.” Sansa furrowed her brow. The food of the dead was tasteless, ashy. More than that, who in their right mind would turn down a feast from the God of Opulence? Sansas heart fluttered a little hearing her name from the other girls lips, and obligingly began to erase the connection. 

It wouldn’t sever. Instead, in a crack of thunder, it widened. Margaery hid behind Lady as the god of the harvest appeared. He wouldn’t have been particularly threatening, especially in Sansas kingdom, but he wasn’t alone. His consort, the god of war, was at his side. Neither looked happy. 

“Merry met, gentlemen. I only wanted a picnic, not a conversation. What brings you both to my kingdom?” Sansas cloak swirled around her, dark and foreboding and shielding the girl behind the wolf from the lightning flashing around the stag warrior. Renlys voice rumbled like thunder. “We have reason to believe you to have kidnapped someone, Lady Sansa.”

Sansa folded her arms. She didn’t need to say anything to this accusation, obviously false: the growling of Lady behind her said all that needed to be said. It made Renlys rumble sound like the swishing of wind in the branches. Loras piped up, then, hissing that “if you don’t give her back, Sansa, we’ll wage war on your kingdom!”

“Try,” was all Sansa deigned to say. “Who am I supposed to have stolen? Your mortal toy of the week?”

“No.” Said Margaery, emerging from behind the direwolf. “You are supposed to have stolen me.”

Renly drew his blade, then, and held it out towards Sansas neck. Loras grabbed Margaery, hiding her behind the pair. Sansa knew she should have been concerned for her safety. All she felt was amusement. Renly could tell, too; the god of war began to look concerned for her sanity. “Did ruling this place take your sanity? Is that why you’re laughing, why you thought you could steal Spring from us?”

“She didn’t steal anyone!” Margaery, at his point, managed to break free from Loras’ tender trapping arms. Renly started; a single drop of blood dripped from Sansas neck. “I chose to come here,” Margaery continued oblivious of her brothers anger, “and I chose to eat the food of the dead, too. You can’t force me to go back above.”

The two backed off, murmuring. Sansa took the opportunity to wipe the blood of her neck, noting that Margaery seemed apologetic, before she spoke. “I can, though. Don’t abandon your family, Margaery. None of mine wanted to stay in Always Winter; you don’t have to trap yourself here too.”

Margaery stepped close to the other goddess. “I came here to meet you, you know. I knew what I was getting into. Why is it so hard to believe that, Sansa?”

Sansas mind temporarily short circuited at how close they were. Margaery wasn’t hiding her godliness anymore. Her hair was filled with flowers, woven into her braids and forming a crown above her brow. The scent was intoxicating poor, reclusive Sansa. 

“Six months with them, each year.”  
“One.”  
“Three.”

Margaery hummed, thinking, then nodded. “Three months of every year, to bring Spring. I can live with that.” Renly coughed. Bless the poor stag, but he looked horrifically awkward in full battle armour watching his sister in law and, quite probably, his other half’s new sister in law make eyes at eachother. “Can we take our three months now, then? We miss you, Margaery.”

Sansa gave a hollow laugh. “You stabbed me. You can see her in nine months, gentlemen. I think we have a lot of... getting to know eachother to do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Don’t even ask how I’m justifying this as a prompt fill for “four calling birds”. Renly and Loras call unexpectedly? There were probably a lot of ravens going throughout the realm when Margaery went missing? I don’t know, but I love it anyway.


End file.
